


Quizás, quizás, quizás

by vladnyrki



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 14:25:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4790615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vladnyrki/pseuds/vladnyrki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson and Natasha Romanov talk shop and prepare dinner in Portland. Set between the end of s2 and Civil War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quizás, quizás, quizás

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrstater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstater/gifts).



Quizás, quizás, quizás… Birthday fic for Khaleesa

 

Lila Downs’ warm accents resounded from the dining room stereo, the playlist jumping abruptly from a tongue-in cheek ranchera to a jazzy and very melancholic rendition of the Llorona.

 

How apt…

 

Instead of wallowing in her own regrets, and the painful memories associated with a certain kitchen, on the opposite coast of the country, Natasha focused on Coulson’s mismatched hands as he sliced the onions destined to soon join the bell peppers and celery that she had been ordered to stir constantly. Silently, her former deceased colleague--in a world where a mass-murdering AI wasn’t just a figment of some sci-fi author’s imagination, she still had to come to terms with the notion--spread the slices into the frying pan, giving his improvised assistant time to incorporate them little by little to the mix.

 

His gestures were still a little clumsy, a far cry from his past almost surgical precision in the kitchen, but the absence of a frustrated frown on his face seemed to indicate that Coulson was slowly getting used to his new limb.

 

“Natasha,” his voice took her out from her reverie. “Don’t stop stirring.”

 

She sighed. “You do realize you aren’t my boss anymore?”

 

“Do you want something on your plate for dinner?”

 

Smartass.

 

“Isn’t it a job for your favorite kitchen assistant, anyway?”

 

The sweetest smile formed on his lips at the mere allusion. Years ago, this was that same smile that had betrayed his burgeoning relationship to the cellist from Portland. They were having lunch in the Triskelion cafeteria, talking shop, then she had dropped some comment about Portland, fishing for information, and the grin had appeared.

 

“She’s busy coughing up her lungs upstairs, and hating me because I brought her to the clinic yesterday.” Coulson’s typical smirk was contagious. “Can you imagine? The doc gave her a full week of sick leave… The horror.” He reached for the spices. “Now you can stop for a bit. Sausage and chicken are in the fridge.”

 

“Easy on the spices, please?” Natasha begged just in time, before Coulson put a full spoon of whatever red powder he used to cook.

 

More than ten years since she switched sides and joined SHIELD, and her palate still burnt from her first experience with Coulson’s southern cooking. To this day, she heavily suspected that the whole thing had been nothing but part of a ploy to break her composure, test her, check if she was truly human or just as a form of mean payback for all the hassle she had caused SHIELD over the years, as Clint put it afterwards.

 

Or all of the above.

 

With Coulson, you never knew. The man could switch from his gentle persona to a deadly strategist in a blink. Natasha had her doubts about who Maria’s contact was for some time, but when Hydra’s leaders started to take each other out with apparently no reason the year before, she just knew.

 

_You won’t admit to love me…_

 

The playlist changed again, and the first words stung, badly.

 

Oblivious to her sudden change of mood, or maybe very conscious of it, Coulson kept on talking as he accepted the plates that she took out from the fridge.

 

Everything was so well organized, ingredients were prepared in advance, dishes were washed as soon as they weren’t needed anymore, so unlike…

 

“So, how are things on the East coast? Is Cap still looking for Barnes?”

 

“What do you think?” she sighed pensively. “He’s off whenever a new trail appears, and Wilson always enables him. And he’s still disgusted by SHIELD and Fury. More than ever.”

 

“As expected,” Coulson’s expression was serious again as he added the meat to the frying pan.

 

“As expected,” Natasha repeated.

 

Unlike Clint, herself or Tony, Steve barely knew Coulson--the agent’s death was just another soldier’s death to him--and to say that he wasn’t overjoyed at the man’s resurrection was a sweet euphemism. To be honest, Natasha had her problems with what Fury had done, or rather how he had done it. However, the contentment of seeing Coulson again, of talking to him again, the relief of knowing that a man like him was at the helm of SHIELD overruled all her hesitations.

 

But Steve couldn’t go beyond the crazy science, the betrayal, the secrecy…

 

“Not that I blame him. But if he keeps on poking around without paying attention to the political fall out, things might get… complicated.”

 

Natasha knew to recognize a friendly warning when she heard one.

 

“That bad?”

 

“Ever tried to reason with a Belarusian dictatorship when a guy dressed in an American flag burst through their frontier to dismantle an installation that was governmental, and not Hydra?”

 

“Coulson… That was bad, and I’m glad that we destroyed it.” Natasha tensed, suddenly defensive.

 

Coulson in director mode was something she needed to get used to.

 

“Yes, but, in the process, you ruined months of joined efforts between SHIELD and the UN to denounce the Belarusian government’s shady military experimentations…Very efficient.”

 

The reply came harsh and biting, like a whiplash.

 

“Listen, Natasha,” he went on, his voice softer. “We’re in the same team, we need to coordinate our actions… or we’re screwed.”

 

He had a point. God knew he had a point.

 

“He won’t work with SHIELD,” she said. “And won’t take orders from you.”

 

“I know, but maybe just check with us once in a while, to see if we aren’t after the same prey… And we can exchange intel.”

 

_Tu contestando quizás, quizás, quizás…*_

 

Natasha bit her lip, and decided that she hated this song.

 

“Resume stirring for five minutes.”

 

Coulson washed his hands and walked upstairs.

 

Natasha looked at his disappearing form disbelievingly. She couldn’t believe he had just ditched her there in the kitchen, watching after the cooking dinner while he was checking on his coughing girlfriend.

 

Talk about being a third wheel. Even Clint was more considerate.

 

_If you love me, confess._

 

And now the song was getting on her already raw nerves.

 

_No me hagas perder más el tiempo mi vida…**_

 

Once in her life, she had let somebody in, and the pain he left in his wake was… devastating. At times, she almost wished she could undo what she had achieved since she joined SHIELD and go back to the robotic girl she was before she met them all. Clint and his generosity. Coulson and his empathy. Fury, May… the Avengers.

 

A gentle hand took the wooden spoon from her fingers.

 

“You really want to ruin our dinner, don’t you?”

 

A metallic hand gave her a file to read before pushing her in the direction of the dining area where Audrey was laying out the plates between miserable bouts of coughing. Obviously, a two hour nap was the most the cellist could do before getting restless. Natasha snorted as she opened the file, and froze.

 

Black and white photos. Surveillance photos.

 

Bruce.

 

Somewhere in Latin America, it seemed. Cuzco?

 

“A Peruvian friend owed me… Cutlery in the right drawer, by the way.”

 

That was all Coulson had to say about it. Some things would never change. Phil Coulson always had friends who owed him, all over the world. How many debts had been collected to rebuild the helicarrier?

 

Back in the kitchen, Audrey and Coulson goofed around with the contents of the frying pan, the first one trying to have a taste before dinner, and the second one battling her back with his wooden spoon. Whatever Steve could say, Fury did a good thing, bringing the man back. Natasha brought the knives and forks to the table before going through the rest of the file.

 

Some more photos. Old ones. And handwritten notes. About the Winter Soldier.

 

“And a…” Natasha’s eyes squinted to decipher the small but regular letters. A woman? “A Ukrainian friend owed you big time, right?”

 

“Classified.”

 

The reply was too quick, and Coulson’s ears were unmistakably redder. Less bothered by this allusion, Audrey took advantage of her spy’s moment of inattention, and triumphantly stole a bite of sausage from the pan.

 

_Mi sol y la luna, contigo hasta la muerte.***_

 

And beyond in the case of these two. Natasha liked this song more, definitely. She shook her head. Maybe taking risks was worth it after all. ****  


A/N: a few translations from Lila Downs’ song

* You answering perhaps, perhaps, perhaps

**Don’t make me lose my time anymore, my love

***My sun and the moon, with you until death parts us


End file.
